


Until the World Crumbles

by Ladycat, wolfshark (sharkie335)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Bondage, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie335/pseuds/wolfshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How long have you wanted us?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ronon's eyes are sharp. That isn't a surprise, really; a runner better be good at seeing everything at once, or he'll be a dead runner pretty soon. But Ronon sees more than just possible attacks or exits. He sees people – and he sees them much better than his wordless grunts and stoic body language implies.

Rodney forgot that.

It's a small prison cell. Not _too_ small, but Rodney's tired and cranky and his arm hurts like a goddamned bitch, and he hasn't eaten in over twelve hours, and while no one else believes him, hypoglycemia is a real issue. Not quite yet, actually, but it's making his claustrophobia go from a mild case to a serious one.

John is kneeling beside him, totally focused on murmuring soft words about wide open places, the air cold and clean all around them, sun weak but so brilliant it dazzles their eyes, his hands busily working Rodney's shoulders and back to try and get him to calm down. Rodney's trying -- _actually_ trying, since he's learned that there's a time and place for histrionics and this is neither -- but he doesn't know how successful he is.

Probably not very, by the anxious look John's trying to hide in his eyes. "Would it help if I freaked out, too?"

"Yes, actually." Rodney can't disguise the humor in his voice. The likelihood of John freaking out is somewhere below slim, and Rodney knows it. Except John leans in close, face intent and _intimate_ and Rodney can't help shooting a look at Ronon.

It's not like they're alone, here, and if Ronon says the wrong thing to the wrong person...

But Ronon simply smirks at Rodney. "I knew. Don't worry about me."

"Oh, okay." And with that, Rodney turns his attention back to John, who is busily curling in further.

"I could freak out. I could freak out all over the place, Rodney."

Rodney can't help the laugh, shaky as it is. "Yeah, right, Sheppard," he says, only to have to swallow it down when John holds up a hand, which shakes.

"See?" John's amused -- he always is, by Rodney's often-humiliating desire for this -- but his eyes are serious. Rodney's desire for this kind of give and take, coddling or being coddled, may be humiliating, but John's repressed _his_ need – not entirely the same, but damned similar -- for decades. To him, it’s dark, secretive, something _wrong_ about man and commander both, and exposing even the tiniest amounts of it here where Ronon can see...

"No," he says, surprising himself. He _wants_ this. Always does, every time, it’s as Pavlovian as his response to coffee. But he's also got an inkling of the way Ronon is, and having his commander act like this, be like this... "No. It's okay; you don't need to do this."

He’s sure that gasping the last few words doesn't help his case much.

John looks back at Ronon, silently assessing, then somehow makes his body go smaller and frailer. "Tell you a secret," he says. "I'm a little claustrophobic myself."

Rodney stops taking shallow breaths to glare. "Oh, please, that is the most patently false thing you've _ever_ said, and the truth is that it’s something you're only passingly familiar with, on a good day!"

John shakes his head, a warm ball that shivers just a touch against Rodney's side. "I am."

"You fly in helicopters! Those cockpits are tiny!"

Ronon, oddly, is the one to answer. His legs stretch out on Rodney’s other side, stretching most of the length of their tiny cell. "S'different up in the air. You've got the sky all around you. It's not small and dark and under -- "

"Okay!" Rodney snaps, mostly for his own benefit, although he really doesn't think John's a good enough actor to mimic that real, convulsive shuddering that’s shivering against Rodney’s body. "Okay, okay, we get it. So... you really are claustrophobic?"

He doesn't mean to sound so young, but this is one of his issues that most people are familiar with, but don't really _understand_. Not the true cases, like his, where it can induce real panic attacks. The kind that aren't interrupted by bursts of brilliance, because Rodney's brain is truly and completely offline.

John nods and knots a hand in Rodney's shirt. "Yeah. Really am."

Rodney has never been able to derail one of his own approaching panic attacks. But for John, he finds that it's easy to set aside the encroaching fear and to force himself to take deep breaths. Air. There's plenty of air down here, and they aren't going to suffocate.

He’s proud to note that his hand is barely shaking when he gently untangles John's grip on his shirt. "It's... it's okay, John. I -- "

But John gives another of those all over body shudders, and Rodney can't stand to see it. He's the one who's supposed to be afraid all the time, not John. And so he leans forward and kisses John, just lightly.

John isn't content to let it go at that, gripping Rodney hard by the upper arms and deepening the kiss till they're both breathless. "Please, Rodney?"

"Okay, _okay_.” Amazing how he can be grateful _and_ annoyed with John at the same time. “I'll do what I can."

Leaning back as far as John's grip will allow, he tries to find his voice. It wouldn't do for it to stay shaky when they're doing this. Refusing to spare a glance at Ronon -- he'll either understand or he won't -- Rodney says, in the most commanding voice he can summon, "Take off your shirt, John."

Rodney _knows_ that, really, this is for him. All of it. John is allowing this to happen because if there's one thing John is excellent at it's controlling his own emotions and body. So to see him shiver when the shirt comes off, nipples already taut, breathing shallowly with the whites of his eyes flashing in the gloom as he searches for Rodney --

The press of walls recedes a little, letting Rodney's chest loosen even more. He can do this.

A soft inhalation makes Rodney look over at Ronon, half-surprised to see him still there. "Oh. Um. So, you know that you can't -- "

"I know about your stupid policies, yes."

"Hey, they aren't _my_ stupid policies," Rodney defends, automatically gathering John against him again and running his hands over skin that's pebbled from gooseflesh. "They're _his_ stupid policies, and they aren't his fault, either."

Rolling his eyes -- Ronon's picked that up remarkably quickly -- he gestures to John's shoes. "Let me take those off?"

Hands busy on John's skin -- and that will never get old, never -- Rodney shrugs. "Sure."

Ronon moves over to them and once again Rodney is struck by how graceful he is for such a large man. When he crouches to undo John's boots, it does nothing to dispel that thought.

John, though, John is tensing up in his arms, looking up at him like he's really uncomfortable. "It's okay." Fingers seek out John's nipple, pinching harshly then soothing away the sting with gentle strokes. "You know how this works. Nothing happens that you're not comfortable with.”

Nodding, John twists a little in Rodney's arms, as if he's trying to fit himself into the space between Rodney and Ronon. When he settles suddenly, Rodney glances down to see that Ronon has slipped off both boots and is still crouched, hands on John's shins.

Ronon's staring at John, but then he looks to Rodney. "Can I?"

Rodney takes in John's face, dark and shuttered, and slowly nods. "I call the shots," he says, as firmly as he can make the words because he knows that's what John's waiting for. "And you don't fuck him."

There are two soft groans and Rodney's honestly not certain which of the three of them are guilty.

"I still get to come, though, right?" Ronon grins, teeth startlingly bright against his beard.

Kissing the side of John's throat, Rodney rolls his eyes. "Yes, of course. Orgasms for everyone. But his ass belongs to _me."_

Before he moves to help John take off his pants, he checks the pockets. Yep, there's the lube, just like it always is. The only surprise that Rodney has is that they haven't been caught before, with John's penchant for semi-public sex.

Then he unbuttons John's fly and slides the pants down his legs with Ronon's help, leaving John naked and hard in his lap. One hand steals down to touch the soft hardness even as John mutely arches his back, asking for another kiss.

This time, Rodney denies him, gathering Ronon in with his eyes and tipping his head towards John. Ronon catches on fast, crawling up John's body and tangling one hand in his wild hair. He kisses him deeply, solidly, even as Rodney's hands continue to touch him in all the good ways.

When Ronon backs off, John looks more than a little dazed. Rodney smiles. It’s a good look on John.

"How long have you wanted us? And is it us, or just him?" Rodney takes his kiss this time, thrusting his tongue in deeply to find any lingering taste of Ronon and making sure to replace it with his own. He can feel Ronon's eyes on them, watching the way John goes limp, moaning in his throat as he lets Rodney direct the kiss.

Breaking off, Rodney nods again even though Ronon's already got his mouth on John, pushing so that John's head rests firmly on Rodney's shoulder. Ronon's dreadlocks brush fire over Rodney's clothed body. "Touch his chest," Rodney says.

He loves to play there, partially because John is surprisingly insecure about muscle definition and the map of curls that cover his skin, and partially because it’s just _fun_ \-- warm and solid and it turns John on every time like a light switch.

Ronon's hands are gentle on John’s body, tracing out his ribs and tugging lightly on the hair. He looks up from kissing John and smiles, but doesn't answer the question. Rodney doesn't really care as long as Ronon remembers who's in charge, here.

John's hard, cock up tight against his belly, leaking steadily. His legs shift as John spreads himself wide, almost begging for Rodney’s touch. Rodney has never been good at denying himself, so he takes John's balls in hand, weighing them and feeling them pull up tight against John's body. His mind races as he debates what they could do.

"So, I'm thinking you might like it if John blows you. That sound good to you?" From the whimpers John's making, it's good for him. "Maybe I'll fuck him at the same time."

"He gives blowjobs?" Ronon's looking impressed, not critical, but John still bristles at the implications.

Rodney calms him with a hand on his neck; waiting the three seconds it takes for John to go limp before speaking. "John _loves_ to give blowjobs. Don't you, John?"

John nods, then appears to realize that Rodney's waiting for an actual answer. "I love sucking cock," he said, words incongruous in his flat voice. The look on his face makes it clear that he loves sucking _Rodney's_ cock.

Then he glances at Ronon, and that look is more challenging. "I could make you scream."

Ronon looked disbelieving. "Right."

"No, really, scream like a little girl."

Rodney looks on smugly. "Oh, he could. John is a cocksucking _god_ , which I don't tell him often because he already has an ego that could flatten small Godzillas."

John rolls his eyes, or starts to, instead gasping when Rodney strokes over his stomach to cup his cock, bouncing it lightly. "Say you're a cocksucker, John."

He loves these little power trips. They're not harmful -- Rodney makes certain of that -- but just hearing John drawl out ludicrously degrading phrases that are _true_ \-- hot. So very hot.

So is the way Ronon's eyes go just a little bit wider when every of John's words ring with sincerity. "I'm a cocksucker," John repeats, breathlessly arching his body. "I am; I'll make you scream from it."

"I'm not loud during sex."

"Oh, yes, because you're such a chatterbox the rest of the time." Rodney grins, though. He likes challenges. Nipping John's neck, he adds, "Unless you don't _want_ a blowjob?"

"Didn't say that," Ronon says, and yeah, when Rodney glances down he can see a fairly impressive bulge in Ronon's pants. "Just said I won't scream."

"We'll see about that." Rodney lands a soft swat on John's hip. "Up, John. On your knees." The part of him that never fails to doubt that this is real clenches hard as John wordlessly rolls to his knees and stays there -- head up, hands on his thighs, cock standing up tall between his legs.

Rodney stands and looks at Ronon, who is still sitting on the floor, staring at John. "You gonna strip down?"

"Yeah." And then Ronon is on his feet as well, taking his clothes off with almost flattering haste. Rodney carefully looks away so that Ronon can't see the smile that threatens to break through.

Then John reaches out with one hand, touching Rodney softly on the thigh, and his breath catches painfully in his chest.

Leaning on his side -- the walls are at least ten feet up, everything is fine, no problems here -- Rodney draws John's hand up and kisses his knuckles. They'd been uncomfortable with this kind of thing at first, neither certain the other would accept and understand, but they did and they do and Rodney's learning not to be self-conscious about this kind of thing.

Moving his kisses to John's shoulder, he nips the sensitive skin there. "You okay?"

For just a moment, John-Rodney's-friend surfaces, pushing away John-Rodney's-sex-partner. "Yeah, I'm fine, Rodney. Better than, even."

"You can stop this if you want."

"I know. I don't want to." And just like that, John visibly lets go of his control, handing it over to Rodney.

The switch is one that always makes Rodney a little breathless, a little scared. He doesn't know how to compartmentalize himself like John does, isn't good at it when he tries. John seems okay with it and doesn't fuss, but for him... there are different facets and faces that Rodney's sure he's never seen. And that while each is _John_ , they're completely different all the same.

Ronon kneels in the dirt, watching them. "How do you want me?" he asks Rodney, stroking his cock idly.

"Stop that," Rodney says, gesturing. "John, go make him stop."

Quick as a flash, John settles in front of Ronon, bent almost double as he knocks Ronon's hand away and slides his mouth down. Rodney knows exactly how that feels, so he only smirks, unsurprised, when Ronon's eyes go incredibly wide, mouth opening slightly.

Ronon's silent, for the moment, but John isn't really putting everything he has into the blowjob, either. Rodney can tell from the way that John's holding himself that he's holding back, and he smiles.

"John. Be good and do it the right way," he calls. John pulls off enough to flash him a quick grin, one that says that John knew what he was doing. Then, after a deep breath, John goes back down... and down... and down.

Ronon's eyes get even wider, if that’s possible, and he tangles his hands in John's hair as he takes Ronon right down his throat.

Rodney has to fight back a wave of jealousy as he watches. He and John have talked in theoreticals about this, about fucking with Ronon or maybe Teyla, but at some level Rodney had never expected it to actually happen.

But John looks _good_ like this, kneeling and sucking on Ronon, and Rodney can't stay upset. Instead, he's got to get in there and touch and prove who John actually belongs to.

Moving makes the light reflect off the bars, reminding him of where he is. There're no guards, though, and won't be for hours more -- there's a routine, already. Breaking out isn't possible, so Rodney lets himself focus on the way his hips match the curve of John's ass, pressure and heat seeping into Rodney's skin as John moves to hands and knees without hesitation.

Ronon mutters something that probably isn't English.

"Isn't he good?" Rodney asks, running a hand down John's distended spine, counting the bumps. "He loves it. He'll spend hours on his knees or on his belly, whatever I like, so long as he gets to suck."

There's another low grunt and Rodney's fascinated to see a move he adores from the outside.

Watching John give head is turning out to be one of the hottest things Rodney's ever done. John is getting lost in the sensation of being taken, it's clear from the look on his face, and in return he's giving it his all.

Enough so that when Rodney buries his hand in John's hair and pulls, John fights him, just for a moment. "Hey, he pants, almost whining, “no." He's straining against Rodney's hand, trying to get back to Ronon's cock, which is every bit as impressive as the man himself.

"Shh, John. Gonna let you go back in just a moment. Want inside you, first."

John turned his head and looks curiously at Rodney, and Rodney swears to himself. He let something through, he knows it, but John doesn't question him, just settles himself more firmly, spreading his knees wide.

It's eerie, doing this with Ronon watching. His presence is dark and solid, a mountain letting its shadow fall over them. Rodney tries to ignore it, thankful that at least his dick doesn’t mind it, as he lets two fingers work John open.

John hisses, arching back, wordlessly begging for more. He hates being teased like this, which is one reason Rodney loves it.

"Still," he orders, panting only a little. "Lick the tip of Ronon's cock but _don't_ suck it."

Two groans of disappointment are his reward.

He slaps John's ass lightly with his free hand. "I could tell you to stop entirely." Not that he actually would, but still, the threat works, and the tension in John's back falls away as he loses himself in licking Ronon's cock.

When Rodney finally lets his fingers slide in deep, hooking and pressing into John's prostate, John gasps and redoubles his efforts on Ronon, who groans and grabs the base of his dick. Rodney can't resist the urge to look at him, to make a face that says, "What, already?"

Ronon actually growls. "Get on with it, McKay." But no matter what Ronon says, Rodney isn't going to rush this. He loves the soft heat of John's ass, loves the sounds he makes, and he's going to treasure every moment.

Certain John’s loose enough – not too loose, though – Rodney withdraws his fingers and carefully, slowly pushes in. He holds still once he's fully seated, enjoying the way John always shakes, always represses the need for movement, for Rodney to shove and take and _have_. Chuckling, Rodney keeps his hips steady as he leans down, John eeling around so that his ear touches Rodney's lips.

"Teeth," he says, softly enough that even Ronon might not hear. John moans, allowing Rodney's sharp nip, then dives back to Ronon's cock.

Normally, Rodney's not big on teeth next to his cock -- it hurts, and hey, kind of disconcerting even when it’s a good thing. But the way _John_ does it should get them the scream they're both angling for.

Rodney starts moving slowly, wanting to give John a chance to adjust so he doesn't accidentally bite down. Besides, John loves it hard and fast and the sounds he makes when he doesn't get his way are _priceless_.

Rodney watches greedily as John takes Ronon deep, and can tell the exact moment he starts to pull back, scraping teeth along the way, because Ronon gasps and shakes and bites his lip. When John nips at the head, he gasps, and as he slides back down, Ronon is making all sorts of sounds.

But no scream yet.

Eyeing Ronon, Rodney musters up a smirk from somewhere and _shoves_ into John. John, predictably, moans like he has his own dick in something as tight and hot and perfect as John's ass is, eyes rolling back just a little as he gets that first burst of friction, the one that settles him like nothing else, getting him into the moment, into _Rodney_.

Ronon makes a low, choked-off noise that could've been a scream. A quiet one.

"See?" Rodney says, pulling back to shove in again. "It's only been a few minutes, too. John can do this for _hours_."

It's incredibly gratifying to see the way Ronon's eyes widen.

As Rodney thrusts into him over and over, John starts moaning like a porn star, and unbelievably taking even more of Ronon's cock down his throat. His eyes have rolled back in his head, and his lashes are fluttering as he takes it from both ends.

Rodney is almost jealous of Ronon. Almost. Then John clenches his muscles around Rodney's dick, and _Rodney's_ eyes roll back into his head. He shifts his grip on John's hips, leaving new bruises on top of old, and slides in with even more force, feeling John jerk under him.

Idly, Rodney wonders just what their captors might do if they walked in right now. Probably sit and watch, because Rodney _knows_ they look good. Well, Ronon does, gleaming body only looking even prettier with the occasional smudge of dirt, curling hair on his pecs thinning before it arrows down to John's head, dark and wild as it bobs up and down.

John himself is _beautiful_ like this, a work of erotic art as he takes both their cocks and wants more, loud, wordless sounds better than any fake moans. He _loves_ this, rocking back and forth in perfect rhythm because the easier it is, the more he gets.

Rodney, himself, isn't pretty or even very attractive, he knows, but the sight of his cock disappearing into John's ass... yeah, that's got to be attractive. Very.

There's a jerk that goes from Ronon to Rodney. He doesn't know what John's done, but Ronon jerks again, gasping harshly, before letting his head fall back as he... screams.

It's not a particularly blood-curdling one, and there's no fear at all in it -- just pleasure so intense it leaves him inhaling harshly on the final note. " _Sheppard_ ," he hisses.

"Fuck his face," Rodney orders, switching long, powerful strokes for shorter, harsher jabs. "Make him swallow it."

There's no hesitation in Ronon as he grabs John's head -- one hand on his face and the other in his hair -- holding him steady as Ronon fucks into him with long deep strokes.

One, two, three powerful rolls of his hips, and Ronon is screaming, coming, and coming hard from the look of it. Rodney can see outline of John's throat as he swallows, trying to take it all, but a little bit escapes and trickles down his chin.

Ronon curls over John as he finishes, panting, and Rodney does something he can't believe he's daring to do -- he reaches out and tangles one hand in Ronon's dreads, pulling him in for a kiss even as his hips move jerkily, his own orgasm only waiting for John's.

John moans loudly and says, "Please Rodney, oh, god, please?"

Breathing harshly, Rodney releases Ronon and says, "You made a mess on his face. Clean it up."

And oh, oh, Ronon _is_ , he ducks down with that startlingly bright grin so he can lick John's chin clean -- " _kiss him_ " -- before taking his mouth in a long, powerful kiss Rodney knows will taste more like Ronon than John.

"Ready?" Rodney asks, fucking in and out of John hard enough that they'll both have more bruises tomorrow. Carson won't know the difference, fortunately.

"Quiet," Rodney says when John moans again. He doesn't want to hear any begging, just that long, breathless cry as John comes. Reaching underneath is awkward, but Rodney manages it and tugs hard once. "Come, John."

Rodney falls the moment John's body contracts around his, achingly tight as they both moan their release.

***

Slumping over John's back, Rodney tries to catch his breath. He knows not to be worried about his weight on John -- John likes to feel pinned after sex. He told him once that it makes him feel safe.

Ronon is still kissing John deeply, though it's gentled considerably, and even as Rodney watches, his muscles start twitching from the uncomfortable position they're both in.

With a groan, he pulls free of John's body, giving John’s hip a tight squeeze as he does so. He doesn't have to say anything, because John has already stopped kissing Ronon to shift around and start kissing Rodney.

There's grit under his ass and who _knows_ what else, but all Rodney thinks about is the warm, sated body in his arms and the way John's mouth tastes with Ronon inside it. He likes it, he decides, chasing out every bit of it and vowing to replace it with his own bitter-salt taste, later.

John is half-asleep and nearly purring, his usual response to intense sex. If they were at Atlantis, Rodney would allow it; maybe even encourage it with another orgasm or two. They aren't, though, and already Ronon is looking out the bars of their cell.

Well. First, Ronon fits himself behind the tangle of Rodney and John, wrapping a long arm around both of them. Then he looks out, keeping watch. "How fast can you get it up again?" he asks.

Both John and Rodney blink. "Excuse me?"

Ronon shrugs, something sharp glinting with the movement. "I want to see him blow you. And I want to watch while you fuck him." Another sharp movement and Ronon's looking directly into Rodney's eyes. "If that's all right with -- "

Rodney makes an impatient noise. “If it’s what, if it’s all right with me? What?”

Quickly getting to his feet, Ronon keeps his eyes on the darkened, shadowed hallway. “Gunfire,” he grunts pulling his pants on and fastening his boots, faster than Rodney would have thought possible.

He refuses to get distracted by it, though, urging John up and dressing, before he turns his attention to his own clothes. John looks faintly disgruntled about the timing of their rescue, and Rodney could almost laugh about it, but instead he crouches down and laces John's boots for him. "Are you okay? Can you hold it together till we're home?"

Giving a sharp nod, John visibly pulls himself back together, back into his own head, and Rodney spares a thought to mourn the fact that they had so little recovery time. John, post-orgasm, is one of his favorite things, and he got almost no time to enjoy it this time.

As John and Ronon come together in front of Rodney, he's relieved when John looks over his shoulder and winks. He's shocked speechless when Ronon does the same.

The sounds of gunfire are closer now, and Rodney braces himself for one of those bullets to come flying through the heavy wooden door, even as he hears Lorne in the hallway. "Are you in there?"

"We're here. Nice of you to stop by, Major," John -- no, Sheppard says. "Think we could get out of here some time today?"

"I'm going to have to blow the door. Stand back." Before Rodney can move, Ronon and Sheppard have shouldered him back by the wall and are standing braced in front of him.

The door blows with a small boom, and there's Lorne and Teyla, both faintly bloodied but standing strong. "Let's go home, sir," Lorne says. Teyla just smiles.

Possibly only Rodney notices the fact that Sheppard is keeping his distance from the marines and Teyla, and he knows why -- he doesn't want them to smell sex on him with no explanation.

The realization gives him a tiny thrill and, a moment later, a smugly grinning Ronon. "You are an _ape_ ," Rodney snaps, which is enough to prompt half the marines and Teyla to jump in and defend the Mountain Man, who needs no defense whatsoever.

It's a good distraction, though.

Getting home is as exciting as getting home always is, complete with shoot-outs and Sheppard acting shocked that no one seems to like him as much as he thinks they do, and a mad, frantic dash to the gate.


	2. Chapter 2

Home isn't much better, since Elizabeth needs to be debriefed and Beckett has turned into a _vampire_ over the last several years, but all it really takes is an hour and a half, two hours tops, and then Rodney is loudly demanding he wants to go back to his quarters, shower and sleep and if his scientists blow up Atlantis, he's not coming to save them.

He limps, though. Just a little. And glares whenever someone suggests it get looked at.

His ankle _does_ hurt and he _does_ think he twisted it a little, but it works as the ruse is supposed to work, Sheppard drawlingly resigned as he volunteers to get Rodney back to his quarters in one piece. Ronon just follows like an overgrown sheep dog and no one even blinks too hard at them.

No one sees them all enter Rodney's room.

They barely make it into the room before Ronon shoves John against the door and kisses him, hard enough that John makes a surprised grunt. They’re all tired and exhausted and really, they should all just shower and sleep, but there’s always a rush of too much lingering adrenaline after a mission, and Rodney knows John’s been craving this since Ronon made his request, back in the cell. So Rodney watches, idly stroking his cock through his pants, before deciding enough is enough and tugs on Ronon's arm. He halfway expects that he won't be able to get anywhere, but Ronon surprises him, yet again, giving way almost instantly.

John is sweet and pliable under Rodney, but his eyes are a little wild, so Rodney gentles the kiss, running soothing hands over John's chest and stomach. John arches into the touch, making Rodney groan in satisfaction.

Turning his head a little, he nips at John's ear. "I'm going to fuck you long and slow, while Ronon watches. You want that?"

John nods, panting. "Always," he says. It's an odd response and Ronon certainly looks quizzical, but Rodney understands.

Tugging off his shirt, he complains, "I will _never_ understand your exhibitionist kink. I mean, okay, I don't mind it and watching is certainly fun, but you _love_ it when people watch me take you."

John just groans, eyes fluttering just at the words. "Uh huh."

Ronon chuckles. "He probably never should've been promoted," he guesses, voice full of dark promises that have nothing to do with reality that hovers outside the door. "He likes being under people too much."

Rodney's cock twitches because yes, John _does_. He could imagine John, a Private or a Sergeant or something low ranking, being told to go do this, or scuttle over to do that, and John doing it with his cock hard and his breathing rushed and…

"Shower," Rodney squeaks. "We need to shower, and John, you need to suck me hard because Carson took too much of my damned blood."

From there it's a scramble for all three of them to get naked, and Rodney takes a long moment to just look Ronon up and down, because holy hell, he's hot.

Ronon stands there and lets him look his fill, his cock already half hard and twitching. Rodney doesn't quite know what god he pleased to get this, but he's certainly not going to complain.

Instead, he gives Ronon a nod and then leads the way to the bathroom. The Ancients must have been true sybarites, because the shower is _huge_ , easily big enough for the three of them, and they all duck inside together.

Then it's a mess of soapy hands, and slick flesh, making Rodney gasp as someone's fingers run down his crack and someone else's hand falls on his dick, but he's not sure who is who and it doesn't really matter.

They take turns rinsing off, and then Rodney pushes John to his knees. "Suck me."

Water flattens John's hair to his head and he groans, low and long, as he falls into Rodney's groin, snuffling and nuzzling at his cock before taking him into that hot, wet, perfect mouth of his.

Behind him, Ronon is watching carefully, his own hips jerking when John starts to move up and down, lovingly sucking each millimeter of flesh. "He really likes that."

"Mm hm. I have no idea how a venerate cocksucker survived the American military, but their homophobic loss is my definite gain."

Ronon understands most of that, for a wonder, or at least nods like he does. "He sucks you better than me."

"What, is this a contest?" Rodney's hand cups the back of John's head and neck, giving him something to press against, knowing John loves feeling like he's being forced. "He's sucked me before, he knows me better."

"Nah. He likes you better."

Rodney rolls his eyes and tries not to preen. Between his legs, John sucks even harder.

There's a reason that generally they do this with Rodney sitting or lying down, and it's because it only takes a few minutes of John's very talented mouth to bring him to the brink of orgasm, complete with weak knees.

When Rodney plants a hand in John's hair and pulls, John gives way grudgingly. And as soon as he lets go, he's right back after Rodney's cock, like it's a necessity. "John, stop, or I'm going to fall."

Reluctantly, John stops and climbs to his feet, licking his lips. Rodney knows what that means, and as soon as they're dried off, John proves him right once again by going to his knees next to the bed and just waiting for Rodney to come sit down in front of him. John wants Rodney's cock -- wants it _badly_ and is willing to do damn near anything Rodney tells him to do to get it.

Rodney smiles at Ronon and sits down in front of John, holding his head back so he can't zero right in. John huffs a frustrated little breath, but they've got time and privacy right now, so Rodney wants to take his time.

"You want to play with him?" Rodney asks while John presses against his hand, eager and hating the restriction. " _Stay_ , John, I'm talking to Ronon now."

Ronon looks surprised, uncertain that he was the focus of Rodney's question, but nods. "What can't I do?"

"Fingers are okay, and he's got this thing about his perineum -- um, the little bit of skin right behind his balls. Really likes that. Yes, yes, _all right_ ," he snaps, smirking down at John, who is currently pouting.

"No cock," he tells Ronon, who nods, rolling his eyes even as he settles down on the ground behind John, and then Rodney lets go, so that John can slide his mouth back down onto Rodney's cock, humming blissfully down the length of it.

Rodney tries to distract himself from the truly world class blowjob he's getting by watching Ronon play. He'd half expects Ronon to go right for fingering John, but instead he's stroking John with light, barely there touches that skip right over his entrance, teasing at his perineum.

John seems like he's in heaven, Rodney's cock down his throat and Ronon touching him, but he keeps shifting restlessly like he's trying to get _more_. Leaning sideways, Rodney picks up the lube off the nightstand. "Here," he says to Ronon, "catch."

Ronon catches it, barely, startling a chuckle out of Rodney. Never thought he'd see the day when Ronon fumbles _anything_.

One of John's hands has snuck up on him, fondling his balls, and startling him back to what John is doing with his mouth. He can't hold back the moan, John working him as sweetly as he can. God, it feels good.

Dropping his head back, Rodney focuses on the glare of the overhead lights, which grow brighter at his unspoken desire to be fully dazzled. Only when his eyes start to ache does he let his head go forward again, blinking spots out of his eyes as he settles a little more deeply into his own skin, better able to control himself.

John is smirking up at him, familiar with Rodney's discomfort trick, and that just isn't something Rodney's going to tolerate. He touches John's face, wet lips, the soft bristle of his cheeks where they hollow around his cock -- oh, god, that never stops being hot -- before he skates them back into the soft heat of John's hair, fingers lost in lush black, flush against John's skull.

Then he grips. _Hard_.

John moans like a porn-star and behind him, Ronon makes a sound. "What'd you do?" he asks.

Rodney grins and nods to where his hands peek out, pink where the knuckles haven't gone white. "He's kind of a slut," he says conversationally, because he knows John likes that. So does he. "Face-fucking is something of a kink."

Especially if it hurts a little, but Rodney doesn't mention that. He knows -- _knows_ \-- Ronon would never hurt either of them, but there are parts inside of Rodney that aren't happy with sharing, no matter how hot it is, or how much John likes it.

John moans again, louder, and when Rodney looks, he sees that Ronon has slid two fingers into him, deep from the look of it and from the way John is hunching his hips. He tightens his hand further, and John looks back up. "Still," he says, and John groans, vibrating around his cock, but his hips slow and eventually come to a trembling stop.

Rodney’s own hips are moving restlessly, as John bobs obediently up and down his cock, following where he leads. He knows that John loves every second of this, pinned between Rodney's cock and Ronon's fingers, and the only thing that would make it better would be if it were Ronon's cock.

But he's not going to allow that. John's ass is _his_ and he's not willing to share.

Just thinking about it makes him want it, want it right the fuck now, and only the look on John's face keeps him from pulling free from that hot mouth, spinning him around, and shoving into him. Instead, he looks at Ronon, who is completely focused on what he's doing, and says, "He can take another, you know. He's not going to break -- in fact, he'd probably thank you."

Ronon grunts, John echoing the noise a moment later, though his trails off into a breathy, muffled groan of pleasure. John's eyes are fluttering, showing white more often then iris and pupil; it's only the fact that John holds _himself_ so rigid that's preventing him from coming.

Rodney's still not certain how to react to having a boyfriend who comes on command. One who trained himself.

Humming to himself, Rodney scoots forward a little to see better. Ronon has three fingers inside John now, flashes of darker brown against skin Rodney knows is pink where it isn't yellow-y pale, moving in a steady, pounding rhythm that has to be driving John insane. He hates slow, something Rodney appreciates since he _loves_ it.

His hands clench around John's head, forcing him still for a moment as he lets his cock drag hot and slick in and out of his mouth. His thumbs are hard above the curve of John's ears, almost near the temple, and the pressure there would make Rodney's eyes pop; it makes John do other things.

"He's pretty," Ronon says. "Like this."

"Yes, he is," Rodney agrees, pushing in a little faster when John groans in frustration. "If I let him, he'd spend virtually all of his time on his knees."

"Never had a slut for a commander before."

There's a moment of... something. Rodney stops enjoying the velvet of John's mouth and catches Ronon's eyes. This could be a problem. Rodney's fully aware of military dynamics -- he's not _that_ oblivious, thank you -- and if this comes back to bite him, bite _Sheppard_ because Rodney freaked out and John really is a whore for cock, and also wanted to make Rodney feel better...

Ronon smirks at him, beard making his teeth even brighter. "Relax, McKay. I can figure out the differences."

"Are you sure?" He knows he's holding John too tightly, but this is a worry he should've had _hours_ ago. "Because, look, yes, he's a cocksucking slut and he'll probably do _anything_ when he's like this," John moans something that might've been disagreement; it's hard to tell since he hasn't even twitched around the cock he's still sucking, "but once we're outside -- "

"McKay. I get it. Relax. And you're choking John."

John, not Sheppard. That distinction is suddenly sharper than ever. Rodney nods, slowly relaxing into the sensation of trusting someone about John, before looking down. "Are you choking?"

John's eyes roll. He's flushed and he's breathing harshly through his nose and he looks as blissed out as a junky on heroin.

"Huh. Maybe not," Ronon says, before twisting his fingers in a way that makes John arch.

Rodney can feel the orgasm start to build in his lower back, electricity crackling along his spine, but he doesn't want to come yet. He knows that John would happily let him come in his mouth, and if they were alone, he'd do just that, and then get John off.

But they _aren't_ alone, and Rodney knows that he's far too competitive to just let it go at that. So he uses the grip he has in John's hair to pull his head back and off his cock with a pop.

John whines, high in his throat, and struggles against his hand to get back to Rodney's cock. He's so desperate that Rodney nearly lets him, but then he pulls _up_ bringing John up off his knees without dislodging Ronon's fingers. "I want you, John. Want you to ride my cock like the slut you are."

He swallows, then nods, eyes wide. His hips press back into Ronon's hand, his cock hard and wet against his belly, and Rodney thinks he's never seen John look more beautiful.

Ronon's low chuckle should've been startling, but it isn't. "Never heard you talk like this before. Like it."

Rodney flushes -- he's not exactly good at this, but he likes it and he knows John does, too, even though he's even _worse_ at saying it -- but he's mollified when John twists just a little to look at Ronon over his shoulder. It's a testament as to how far into this John is that there's no glare, no superior commander at all: just naked need and lust. "S'true," John murmurs, spreading his legs wantonly. "All true."

"For him." There's something significant about that, but Ronon is standing, withdrawing his fingers from John's body and surveying the three of them. "Got an idea how you want to do this, McKay?"

Rodney scoots back on the bed so that his back is against the wall, legs dangling off the edge. He pats his leg. "Come on up here, John."

But Ronon stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "Just a second," he says and wraps his wet hand around Rodney's cock, slicking him up, making him shudder. Rodney may love everything that he and John do together, but Ronon's got nice hands, and they feel really good on his cock.

John is staring at them -- well, to be accurate, he's staring at where Ronon is touching Rodney -- and the look on his face is a mixture of jealousy and lust. Rodney reaches out and strokes the hair back from his face, wanting him to be okay. John bends his head and nuzzles Rodney's palm, making him smile.

Too soon, Ronon pulls back, with a grunt and an, "Okay," letting go of John's shoulder at the same time. Rodney doesn't need to say anything before John is on the bed, knee-walking up over his thighs and high above his cock.

Before Rodney can reach down to hold his cock for John to sit down, Ronon's hand is back, this time guiding John down. Harsh moan rise from three separate throats as John settles into the cup of Rodney's hips.

John knows better than to start moving immediately, because whatever pace he sets; Rodney is going to slow him down. Instead he waits, face impatient, for Rodney to take him by the hips and guide him into a slow glide.

Rodney makes himself smirk, smug and arrogant as John tries not to whine or complain -- that earns him punishment, the kind he _doesn't_ like -- because John never knows how powerful this is. To see John sitting astride him, fully surrounding Rodney, anxious to move and jerk not just so that he, John, comes, but that Rodney releases _inside_ him.

And now Ronon is watching, too.

"You're a tease, McKay," Ronon says, sitting on the bed and running one of his big, dangerous hands over John's shoulder and down his back. John arches like a cat, hissing at the sensation.

Rodney grins at him, hoping he doesn't look as strained and desperate as he feels. "You approve? Not that I need it, of course. John approves."

John gives him a green-eyed look that is _not_ at all approval, shifting without lifting up at all, and Ronon laughs. "He really is a -- a slut," Ronon says, voice deep and amused and not at all insulting. "That's what your men call it, Sheppard. When a person is gagging for it, desperate. And you are."

John groans, knowing better than to dispute hard evidence. He shifts again, glaring down at Rodney -- then wincing as his cock is slapped. "Sorry," he pants, tightening to almost unbearable pressure.

Rodney gasps, hips jerking. "Forgiven." To prove it, he settles his fingers around John's hips, the tucked under bone that's so easy to grip and move, John's body lifting fluidly, matching Rodney's slow, aching pace so easily.

He has to swallow his moan, because he needs to stay in control, or this will end far too soon. But it doesn't really matter - John is moaning enough for both of them.

Rodney can see the fierce concentration on Ronon's face as he's clearly looking where John is impaled on his cock, and he has to squeeze down on John's hips, bringing him to a stuttering stop as gentle fingers trace out where his cock is sliding into John.

"Oh, f-fuck," he stutters out as those same fingers trace down to his balls, tugging lightly, and then back up again. John is whining in his arms, but Rodney doesn't dare move, because he'll come if he does.

There's a click, and then Ronon's hand is back, slick with the good lube, tracing the tight muscle that's got Rodney's dick in a vice grip. "I want -- can I, McKay?" It takes a second for Rodney to figure out what Ronon's asking, but when he does, his breath catches in his throat as he nods.

And then there's a finger sliding in, next to his cock, and he _can't_ hold back the moan.

He bites his own lips hard enough to bleed, trying to keep back babbling words that will only get him into trouble, later. They almost did with John, weeks and months ago, before he realized just how much John loves taking every single thing Rodney gives him and craving more beside. John is gasping, shallow breaths that don't seem to be giving him enough oxygen, given his wide-eyed look, and Rodney knows exactly how he feels.

"Can I?" Ronon asks again. His eyes are locked on what his hand is doing, and oddly, he looks younger like this. Vulnerable. No longer Ronon, the fierce warrior who bosses Rodney around as much as Rodney bosses him, just a young man who is lost in lust and _want_.

John squeaks when the second finger is added. Rodney tries his damnedest not to imitate the sound because Jesus, those are Ronon's _fingernails_ against the bottom of his cock and oh, oh my _god_.

"Yeah," he gasps, biting down again, fresh blood welling up and he welcomes the pain. It keeps his mind from fogging up too much. "Don't tease, Ronon."

"No," he says, a third finger joining the other two for a moment. "That's your job. Lean forward." It's a command for John, who waits for Rodney's nod before obeying; kissing away the coppery blood from Rodney's mouth as more lube is applied. A _lot_ more.

It's hard to shift enough for what Ronon wants, but somehow they manage, so that John is practically lying on Rodney's chest. Ronon catches Rodney's eye over John's shoulder and lifts an eyebrow, clear question.

But there's really not much to wonder about, and he answers by sliding his hands back to John's ass and pulling him wide to Ronon's view. Ronon gasps, and his fingers slide free. He kneels, straddling Rodney's thighs, and Rodney has a brief moment of panic because he's pinned beneath two large men.

Ronon never breaks eye contact with him, though, and that helps, steadies him, so that he's able to swallow back the groan as Ronon presses into John, slow, so very fucking slow.

The pressure inside John is crushing, and it steals all of Rodney's air. John is making soft whimpering noises between their bodies, and Rodney manages to find enough control to run a soothing hand up his back. "Shh, John, it's okay, you can do this," he babbles, then looks to Ronon. "Don't move. Give him a moment to adjust."

Ronon nods, grimacing. It's not the most reassuring of expressions, given that Rodney can't _do_ anything if there's a problem -- but he trusts Ronon. So instead he tips John's face up to him and kisses him, slow and sweet, letting John make all kinds of shivery noises into his mouth. His body is warm and completely pliant to Rodney's wandering hand, living play-dough to move and rearrange however he wishes.

"You okay?" he murmurs against John's mouth. He doesn't want to see John's eyes, knowing he'll be completely drugged-looking with lust; pupil so huge there'll be barely a rim of green.

If Rodney sees that he'll come. Immediately. He does every time.

John nods, mouthing against Rodney's skin because he can't quite gather up enough control for kissing. It's good enough, for an answer, and Rodney pets and strokes, cuddling John like a kitten as he slowly relaxes around the two of them.

God, that's Ronon’s _cock_ pressing warm and snug against his own.

Rodney closes his eyes and thrusts gently, experimentally. Both Ronon and John groan in unison and he smiles at the sounds they make.

His hands find their way back down John's body and curl around his hips, holding him so that he has no choice but to be still as Rodney sets up a sweet, slow rhythm of pressing in. When he opens his eyes, Ronon's face is right there, waiting for Rodney's nod, and then he starts to rock in counterpoint.

John's breathy moans are steady now, music to Rodney's ears. Buried within them are words and syllables that tell Rodney that John is lost, awash in a sea of sensation. Normally he wouldn't worry about John coming before he was ready, but the slow rising tension in his back and arms tells him that this one time, John isn't going to be able to control it. He's going to come, and soon.

It may not be a bad thing, though. Unlike Rodney, who does not like being fucked when he has already come, John claims to enjoy it. It isn't something Rodney experiments with often, as he likes watching John gasp and silently plead for release, likes watching him come, but he's done it enough that he has to believe John.

John is a master of faking what he wants others to see, but like this -- like _here_ \-- he can't.

Catching Ronon's eye, he speeds up just the tiniest bit, Ronon immediately catching the change. Both arms wrapped around John, trusting Ronon not to collapse over them, Rodney shifts and pushes until he's certain one of them is brushing against his prostate, Rodney stroking along John's back while he grips and starts lightly -- so lightly -- tugging.

John _shouts_.

"It's okay," Rodney whispers in his ear, lipping shell and tickling black hairs both. "Come on. We want to see you."

It's only a few more strokes, and then John tenses beneath Rodney's hands, muscles going rigid and locked as his ass tightens unbelievably, and he comes silently over Rodney's hand.

Rodney only manages to avoid coming by focusing completely on John, petting and stroking him through his orgasm. When he finally stops, he goes completely boneless above Rodney, slumped even more onto his chest, and Rodney can't help the grin that splits his face as he looks to Ronon.

Now that John's come, there's an air of tension that wasn't there before, and in a flash of insight that is rare and precious, Rodney reads it for what it is - competition between Ronon and himself.

And he'll be damned if he's going to let Ronon win.

So he starts moving with purpose, as best he can with John's weight on his chest and Ronon on his thighs. Fast and then faster, biting his lip to keep enough control that John isn't being hurt.

Ronon is looking at him, narrow-eyed, a slight sneer on his upper lip, bottom caught between his teeth. It makes him look fierce, uncontrollable, physical prowess that Rodney can't hope to match.

It also makes him look absurdly young and vulnerable.

It's a stretch, but Rodney manages to detach one arm from curling around John to find Ronon's chest. The skin is warm and soft, slick like the gold it resembles. He's much smoother than John, what hair he has downy and curled, not the rough whorls Rodney loves to run his fingers through. It's a different sensation, and Rodney finds he likes it --

Especially when he tweaks Ronon's nipples and the man not only groans and rumbles approvingly, he _slows down_.

Huh. Interesting reaction. Rodney repeats it, a little harder, catching John's interest as he continues to be fucked in long, hard strokes, but now only with one dick.

Ronon's still there, just not moving at all, and Rodney hums to himself and continues to touch. John's making small mewling sighs as Rodney continues to move, and his other hand is busy touching him, making sure that he's okay.

John pulls back enough that he can catch Rodney's eye, and tips his head back towards Ronon in a deliberately provocative way. Rodney smiles and kisses him for it, but keeps his eyes on Ronon, who groans as their lips touch.

One of Ronon's hands finds its way to where Rodney's is curled around John's hip, anchoring him here. Rodney twists and grips Ronon's wrist, tugging and pulling till he goes off balance, sliding in even deeper as barely catches himself on the bed. He groans again, and Rodney smiles.

This is unexpected, because who would ever think that Ronon could be ambushed this way, or give so sweetly? But he is, and it's so _hot_ to watch the shadows his dreads make falling all over John's back, listening to the way he pants, choking back words Rodney really hopes are pleas for more.

He can do more.

"You're falling behind," Rodney teases, his voice lower and rougher than it's ever been before. Ronon groans in response, his arm trembling. He's sweating, and it drips down to slide off John's back. "Keep up, Ronon. Fuck him."

John makes a wordless noise that is encouragement and taunting at the same time. He's wanton, like this, sated and calm and pliant enough that Rodney vaguely worries if John’s bones have all melted away entirely.

"Fuck him," Rodney says again.

From the noise that Ronon's making, Rodney can tell that there's nothing more than Ronon wants to do. But he's still holding back, refusing to move, and that puzzles Rodney a little bit.

It's only when John says, "Please, Ronon. Fuck me," that Ronon groans again and starts to move in long, slow strokes. He's found his balance again, and his hands are firm on John's hips as he gives him what he asks for.

John's getting hard again against Rodney's stomach, and Rodney can't keep his grin off his face. "He's a real slut for this, Ronon. He's hard, and if we fuck him right, he'll probably come again. You want that, don't you?"

This time, the groan has words in it, something that sounds like, "God, yes," and now Ronon is fucking the way Rodney wants him to, deep and thorough.

Rodney matches him, stroke for stroke. Not being athletic is the field is never a good indication for stamina in bed and as the minutes stretch out, John rocking between them to take more, Ronon starts looking impressed. It's insulting, a little, but Rodney knows his big, pudgy body is not thought of as particularly worthy of the sustained kind of affections Ronon's supposedly produces.

Rodney _also_ knows he can go for hours, has enough experience to make each moment spectacular, and John pushes the boundaries on both of those whenever they have the time.

Ronon has _none_ of those.

John shifts, carefully placing his palms on either side of Rodney's head, forcing himself up and then back so he can be fucked more easily. "Say it," he begs, whispery and low.

"Slut," Rodney replies, pinching a nipple before lifting up so that he can pinch Ronon's. "Fuck him harder," he says, moaning softly as they low scrape of friction of cock against his own turns into an achingly sweet burn.

Ronon's hands bracket John's, forcing him down as he fucks hard and deep. Rodney can't move anything other than his hips, pinned as he is, but he's past the point of caring.

He's twisting Ronon's nipple, watching the look on his face change into something that's hungry and desperate, even as he continues to whisper to John. "Cock-hungry slut. Taking it like this, two cocks up your ass and still not enough, is it?"

John moans, eyes rolling back in his head. His cock leaves wet trails on Rodney's stomach, and Rodney bites his own lip at the sensation.

Then he thinks better of it, and leans up enough to kiss John, biting _his_ lip instead.

Mumbling something in what sounds like Satedan, Ronon is sweating and gorgeous, and Rodney spares a thought for how he could have missed this when he was looking at Ronon before. He twists Ronon's nipple again, and smiles when he curses, his hips jumping.

John's voice starts to spiral out of control, something that Rodney has only heard twice before, and it tells him that John's been pushed down as far as he can be. He's lost in his head, willing to do anything when he's like this, broken into little pieces, and Rodney responds to that like he always does, wrapping his arms around John and holding him tight, holding him together.

"Now, Ronon. Give it to him _now_ ," he says, knowing that he's only moments away from breaking himself.

Ronon goes statue-still, head falling back. It's _hot_ , unbelievably so, because just like John, all it's taking is a single phrase, barked out and Ronon is _obeying him_.

"Jesus," Rodney whispers, hips bucking uncontrollably. Ronon moans in answer, panting as he comes inside of John's body, around Rodney's cock, warm and wet.

It should be gross, feeling another man come on him like this. It _is_ gross, but John is whimpering against his skin, rocking into his belly even as he tightens around both of them, for Ronon's finish and Rodney's continued pleasure, and any complaints Rodney might contemplate of evaporate like water.

Ronon just came on command, Rodney thinks, fucking up as hard as he can, fingers digging furrows into John's skin.

Searching out John's mouth, he murmurs, "Now, John," even as he takes him in a hard kiss, swallowing his cries. John's body tightens unbelievably, and that's all it takes to push Rodney over that last line, and he gives in to the unbearable pressure and lets his orgasm slam through him.

When he can see and think and breathe without sounding like a straining engine, Ronon is draped alongside him, eyes half closed while one hand plays up and down John's arm. John himself is spread over him like a blanket, murmuring quietly, face tucked against Rodney's neck, a mess on their bellies, and he is warm and solid and canted just enough that Rodney doesn't feel suffocated.

It's a trick John's known from the very beginning, artlessly arranging himself and Rodney so they're never painfully tangled or too heavy against each other. Rodney wants to know how, but he can't bring himself to ask.

"Mm," Ronon says, leaning down to brush a kiss on Rodney's neck that's almost, but not quite, close enough to reach John's mouth.

"That -- was amazing," Rodney manages to get out after a few tries. He’s winded and tired and _sore_ and it’s perfect. Ronon smiles, an expression that leaves him looking even younger and much more innocent. John doesn't say anything, but he rubs his face against Rodney's neck.

Rodney could sleep right now, and he suspects the same of John, but Ronon looks wide-awake, almost like he has a question. Rodney tries to wait patiently, but eventually gives up and snaps, "What?"

"Now what?" Ronon asks, and Rodney almost -- almost -- says something to the effect of _Now_ _we sleep, dumbass._

But there are undercurrents to Ronon's question that Rodney only understands the surface of. So instead, he shifts so he can see Ronon better, one hand cradling the back of John's head. "It depends on what you want, Ronon."

John reaches out to thumb over Ronon's bottom lip, letting Ronon catch it for a second, then drawing it away. "What do you want?" he echoes, settling more comfortably on Rodney.

"He's yours," Ronon says. He's looking at Rodney, almost like John doesn't even exist. It should make Rodney angry, because he hates being dismissed and since John _is_ his, there's a possessive, sharing thing he doesn't completely understand at work.

He does understand what Ronon means, though. "Yeah. He is mine."

He's never actually said that to someone who isn't John before. The thrill of it shivers through him, like plummeting down the first drop of a roller coaster. John is _his_ , and someone knows it. Ronon knows it.

"Don't want to mess that up."

Rodney smiles. This? This is easy. If he hasn't managed to mess up things with John, then Ronon _can't_. What they have together is wonderful and complicated and messy, except when it's very simple.

John is _his_.

"You won't. I won't let you. So why don't you just tell me what you want, and I'll tell you if it's possible."

Ronon... blushes. It's high on the cheeks and very faint, doesn't seem possible, and at first Rodney thinks it must be a trick of the light -- but there's no real question, he's blushing. "I want to be part of what you have."

Rodney wants to just say yes, but he's as much John's as John is his, and this isn't something that he can just unilaterally decide. So he runs his hand up to John's chin and turns his head until he can see his eyes. "What do you think, John?"

John licks his lips, eyes glinting and feral, as he looks first at Rodney and then at Ronon. "He tastes good," he says, voice practically a purr.

It's not an answer, except in the way that it's the only answer possible. Rodney laughs, and then harder when Ronon looks confused. "He's saying yes," Rodney translates, pushing at John's head so that he stretches forward to kiss Ronon. They make a very pretty picture like that, John's narrower features sharp and dark against Ronon's.

"That's a yes?" Ronon's smiling, though. "It doesn't sound like a yes."

Rodney reaches out and smacks the top of Ronon's head. Like this, here, he can do that. "There are boundaries," he says, tugging on one of the dreads and chuckling at Ronon's outraged expression -- he hasn't moved, though, which practically shouts permission.

"There always are," Ronon says, but then short circuits anything that Rodney might have said by leaning forward and kissing him.

Ronon does taste good, and Rodney lets him control the kiss for a minute before shifting John and taking it back. By the time he lets go, he's half on top of Ronon, John lying behind him, and Ronon looking pleasingly lost.

But he's not the biggest genius in two galaxies for nothing, so he regroups and says, "For now, I don't want you two to be alone like this. If I'm there, it's fine. And you only fuck him with my permission."

Nodding, Ronon looks thoughtful. "Does he fuck? Can he fuck me?"

Rodney looks at John; it's his choice to bottom as much as he does, and there's only been one time when it was bad enough that Rodney flat out _ordered_ him to fuck him.

John smiles, sharp and greedy and _happy_ , leaning forward to mouth along both their shoulders before pulling back. "If Rodney's here," he says. "And we still get to boss him around on missions, if we want."

Rodney splutters, outraged at John's insouciant tone, but Ronon is grinning -- broadly and completely -- and that's too rare a sight for Rodney to ignore it. "You are both menaces," he grouses. "And you probably both need to be spanked."

That John goes slack-eyed and eager is not a surprise. That _Ronon_ does as well _is_ a surprise. A good one.

He knows he shouldn't assume, but before he can stop himself he's rolled to his feet and tugging on Ronon's hip. He's surprised right down to his toes when Ronon doesn't resist in the slightest, letting him turn him enough that he can land a firm swat on his ass.

Ronon moans, his hands seeking out John and kneading him like a cat. John looks pleasantly surprised by this turn of events, and Rodney likes the effect so much that he lands another one just for the hell of it.

"Good hands," Ronon murmurs as rolls back onto his side, artfully posing himself so that a hint of one slightly reddened buttock is visible. "I always knew you had good hands."

"He really does," John agrees, welcoming Rodney back with a kiss and a return to his duties as living blanket. "You should fist him," he says to Rodney, as conversational as if he was deciding what movie he wanted to watch. "I'll suck him when you do."

The groan that gets is definitely from Ronon, though Rodney's not sure whether it's because of the thought of being fisted or John's mouth. It doesn't really matter, because he's lost in the mental picture of Ronon, splayed open and taking his fist. But... "Don't you think I should fuck him before I go sticking my hand up his ass?" he asks, deliberately crude.

The, "Yeah, he should," from Ronon is entirely unexpected.

Rodney's smart enough to recognize the dominance games Ronon plays with Sheppard out on the field, and the way they're changing and transmuting here in his bed. But Ronon willingly allowing Rodney to fuck him? That's both new and unexpected, and says things about Rodney he rarely wants to acknowledge.

When John nips him, because John knows Rodney far, far better than Rodney would often like, Rodney swats his ass hard enough that the _crack_ of skin on skin echoes. All three of them make approving noises afterwards.

Sighing, Rodney lets his head lay against the pillow, John working even closer. "While I have _never_ heard any complaints from John," he says, preemptively glaring, "me fucking you is not going to happen now. Not without some food, a nap, and possibly a shower."

He catches the way John's eyes flicker down to his chest, messy from John’s release, and just barely refrains from asking John to clean him with his tongue. They've done that before, but Rodney really _does_ want a nap. It's been a long, exhausting day, not the least because of all the sex they've had. “Sleeeeep,” he whines.

Both John and Ronon chuckle at that, and then Ronon stands up and hunts for his pants.

Rodney stares, even going so far as to push him and John – ow, heavy – up on one elbow. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Ronon looks confused. "I was going to go back to my room. Give you space for a nap."

Of all that -- Rodney reaches out a hand towards him, waving demandingly. "Get back here. We can nap together." When Ronon looks doubtful, Rodney glares and puts on his most determined look, the one that cows entire science departments. "Now, Ronon. John?"

John's half asleep already, but he mutters, loud enough for Ronon to hear. "Would you get over here so Ronon will shut up and sleep already?"

That’s enough for Ronon who shrugs, dropping his pants again, before climbing back on the bed and curling up around Rodney and John. Rodney shoves at his shoulder until he's comfortable, and then closes his eyes.

It's a little tight, three large men on the two mattresses he’s got pressed together, but right then, tight is good. He likes feeling both men, warm and solid around him, so close that his body almost sways back and forth as each one breathes, minutely pushing him this way and that. He's never been a fan of the ocean, but this kind of rocking is ... soothing.

John places a soft, delicate kiss right below Rodney's ear. It's a nothing motion, maybe even just John moving in his sleep -- but Rodney knows he's not asleep, yet. And that it isn't not nothing at all.

"Okay?" he asks, hopefully softly enough that bat-ears next to him doesn't wake. Ronon's fallen asleep frighteningly fast.

"Yeah," John says, and kisses him again. "Go to sleep, Rodney."

"Okay," he says, and he's asleep between one breath and the next.


End file.
